


Rebirth

by siluria



Category: Chronicles of Riddick (2004), Doom (2005)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siluria/pseuds/siluria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gave up on life a long time ago, giving in to what the Necromongers demanded of him. Riddick might just be the one to make him think again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taibhrigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/gifts).



> taibhrigh asked for a Reaper!Vaako/Riddick fic. This is the result.

********

 

John Grimm lost the ability to care decades prior. Reaper stopped being a fighter, a savior, a survivor, a ‘human’ the day the Earth died. What little humanity remained stopped trying to live the day the Necromongers desecrated the last place he ever called home.

He’d wondered if he would have survived the ‘cleansing’ of the planet. Part of him suspected so, but with nothing but death remaining, he’d have lived only to die countless times over. A personal Hell. So instead he’d let the Necromonger way take over what little remained of the man that had once been John Grimm. He absorbed the pain that the purification brought upon him, and welcomed the numbing of his thoughts that accompanied it. He felt peace at following orders again, and let what little remained of Reaper loose on whomever came at him, brushing any sliver of remorse back to the depths of his mind where he’d cornered ‘John’.

Vaako came alive the day the Necromongers crossed John’s path. Vaako saw Commanders and Lord Marshals rise and fall, and found himself as First Among when one too many people thought he stood between them and the coveted position as head of the Necromonger army. Vaako hadn’t looked for the job, but it was thrust upon him. He took orders like the good little soldier he’d been bred to be all those years ago, but he handed orders back out again, his brain falling into the familiarity that once sat with the soldier they’d called Reaper. Reaper relished the release, the increase in fights for Vaako’s position. But the real change came when John Grimm started to pay attention... the day Richard B Riddick crashed into his life.

In an army that sought eradication of life, and in a Universe where few cared for anyone or anything beyond their own skin and the credits that lined their pockets, John Grimm had never expected to find anyone that gave a damn. Riddick, for all intents and purposes, was a loner, a merc, a killer. And yet, underneath all that, there was something there that allowed him to care enough to try to save the girl, some shred of humanity that was almost a beacon amidst the darkness. Where Vaako would have let the ax fall against Riddick’s neck, John Grimm finally stepped forward once more, and stayed his hand.

xxx

“I can’t work you out.”

Riddick’s deep voice drew John’s eyes away from the latest report on troop readiness, which Commanders were working well in their roles, where there was too much infighting resulting in too many casualties. He raised an eyebrow in mute question, a mannerism far more associated with the long-forgotten John Grimm, than Lord Vaako. But then John had been closer to the forefront since Riddick had taken over as Lord Marshal, and he remained there the longer Vaako stayed away from the Purification chambers.

Riddick leaned forward out of his slouch, his legs uncrossing from where they were stretched out on the table and landing back on the floor. “Who were you Vaako, before you let the ghosts take you over?”

John could feel his teeth grinding as his jaw clenched, and he forced himself to relax, his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. “There were always ghosts, Lord Marshal. They didn’t just come with the Necromongers.”

“You don’t deny letting them win.” Riddick rested his elbows on his knees, his clenched hands supporting his chin as he continued to stare at him. The silence dragged on.

John sighed and tossed the data screen onto the table, the metal sliding across the surface briefly before coming to a stop. “What are the answers you want to hear?”

Riddick shrugged and leaned back in his chair now he had the attention he’d clearly sought. “Ain’t saying I want a specific answer, just the truth. You ain’t the same as the rest of the walking dead, and I want to know why.”

He snorted. “Oh, I’m the walking dead, alright.” He didn’t try to hide the edge in his voice. “I’ve died so many times I’ve lost count. _Should_ have died long before now. I joined the walking dead to stop living.”

He ignored Riddick’s frown and ripped the seam on the sleeve covering his left arm, revealing the dark lines inked into his skin representing an archaic soldier’s wit and the need to give a name to someone they’d rather not get to know too well in case they were lost. “Do you know what this is?”

Riddick leaned forward, his hand snaking out to grab tightly to John’s wrist. The fingers of his free hand traced the lines, the skeletal face, and the arch of the scythe. The touch was light, the calluses on Riddick’s fingertips teasing John’s skin, causing arousal to start to pool in his belly.

“There was a planet in the 3rd quadrant, what was once called Earth. They had a religion that believed that when your time came your soul was collected by the Angel of Death and delivered to whichever hell was your eternity. _That’s_ the Angel of Death, the Grim Reaper. I was Reaper for a while.”

“And before that?” Riddick kept his hand wrapped round John’s wrist, but raised his eyes from the tattoo to look at him.

“Just John. A son, a brother, a soldier. Then it was Reaper.”

“And now?” Riddick’s fingers left his wrist and trailed up his arm as he stood up from his chair, stopping when his hand rested against John’s neck.

He took an angry step back and let Riddick’s touch fall away. “I’m not what you think I am. I’ve seen more than you can comprehend and lost more than you can imagine. John died a long time ago, and while Reaper rears his head at times, it’s Vaako now.”

Riddick took another step forward, closing the gap John had opened up. “Nah. See I don’t think it’s been Vaako for a bit now, might have been once, when we first crossed paths, but that’s not who you are.” Riddick gripped John’s left wrist, bringing his arm up so that he could look at the tattoo again. “I’ve felt its touch on occasion, but no Reaper has managed to take me down, and I’m not about to break my winning streak. I want to know what you’re going to do next. You going to go back to submitting to your ghosts, or are you about ready to start living again?”

John laughed, sharp and unamused. He easily wrenched his hand out of Riddick grasp. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had something worth living for. What makes you think you can give me anything that’s going to change that?”

Riddick’s smirk was lopsided, and there was a taunting look in his eyes as he continued to stare at John. “Oh, I can give you something alright. See, you’ve gotten used to walking with ghosts. Living with people whose only ambition is to die once they’ve eradicated as much life as they can. Along the way they’ll try to make the misery more comfortable by aiming for a higher position, or finding a damp hole to temporarily satiate the need that purification can’t fill.”

Riddick lessened the gap that had widened between them, and John eyed him as he moved within striking distance. He forced his body to feign ease, but John could feel the hairs rising at the back of his neck, awareness growing. John hadn’t been so conscious of another person in decades. The heat that came from Riddick’s body washed over him, and his heightened senses were noticing the Furyan’s smell, the faded scars of old conflicts that marred his skin, the beat of a heart in his chest.

“See, I ain’t dead. I ain’t planning on ending up that way for a long time. I plan on fighting and fucking and stirring up shit when I get bored. And I think you might just be the only one of the walking dead that could stop me doing all that.” Riddick placed a hand over John’s heart, and the heat from his palm soaked even further into John’s skin.

“So,” Riddick whispered into John’s ear. “I’d rather have you alive and on my side, than wondering if and when you’re going to stab me in the back.”

John clenched his fists, feeling his nails slice into his palms. Riddick must have felt him tense up as he chuckled, the warm breath brushing against his ear. “Are you going to fight me or fuck me, John? Both will show me just what you’ve got, but I’d rather get off at the end of it.”

John couldn’t really say at the time why he threw his clenched fist against Riddick’s face. There was an itch under his skin that he’d easily ignored since he became Vaako, but that was now screaming at him to do something. Fight or fuck. And John didn’t know which he wanted more, but fighting was safer, fighting was sheer instinct that he could leave to Reaper’s skills… fucking was something that John would over-think.

Vaako was a skilled and efficient fighter. They said that was why he was still alive, and why he’d kept his rank for so much longer than any of his predecessors. Reaper was that same fighter fuelled with rage and desperation. Riddick might have thought he knew what Vaako was capable of. But Riddick didn’t know Reaper. Riddick fought back well, but bruises and cuts and breaks healed so quickly that John never felt them in the first place. Not until Riddick went still beneath him, and John felt the tip of a blade press sharply between his ribs.

John blinked back the haze that had settled over his vision. Riddick lay beneath him amidst shards of broken pottery and remnants of furniture. There was blood running from Riddick’s nose, and a split above an eyebrow that was turning one side of his face into a bloody mess. He forced himself to loosen his hands from where they were clenched around Riddick’s throat, trying to ignore the white marks from his fingers that flooded red with returned blood flow. He moved one hand until it rested lightly against Riddick’s hand that held the blade against his body. John stared into silvery eyes, wondering what their expression meant, whether it was anger or arousal, fear or loathing. He hated that he cared so much about the answer.

“Do it.” John’s words were a roughened growl.

Riddick curled his lips into a smirk, but there was the barest twitch of his hand under John’s before he started to pull away. John gripped Riddick’s fist tight to hold it in place around the hilt of the knife, using the strength C24 gave him to ensure that the Furyan couldn’t pull his hand back.

“Do it!”

When Riddick started to struggle in an attempt to pull back, John forced the blade forward. He could feel the tip breaking skin, the edge skimming one of his ribs as the blade twisted as Riddick managed to pull his hand back with a string of curses that John hadn’t heard in years. He slipped back to his knees as Riddick pulled out from under him, he could hear the blood screaming in his ears, could feel the pain that came in waves as his body tried to repair itself around the intruding metal.

He hissed as the blade was pulled free, and he thought he heard it clatter against the floor before Riddick was there kneeling in front of him, trying to force John's bloodied hands away from where he knew the wound was almost closed.

“You ain’t dying on me you bastard.”

“Not dying,” John whispered, pushing Riddick’s hands away. Riddick grunted, but rested his hands on his knees. His slightly hunched form suggesting that John had at the very least cracked a rib or two in the fight.

“Why the hell do I get the impression you ain’t exactly pleased about that?”

John tipped his head back and sighed, staring at the ceiling. He startled as he felt roughened fingers trail down his exposed neck, before they came to rest against his pulse-point. John continued to stare upwards, drowning in the feel of those fingertips slowly brushing against his skin, thoughts running through his head warring between submission and flight. It had been so long since he’d trusted anyone, certainly not enough to let go of his barriers. His time here would be fleeting in the whole story of his life, the memories not.

He closed his eyes as he tipped his head forward again, his hands reached for the hem of his tunic, pulling it over his head. He opened them to study Riddick’s face, the predatory grin faded and Riddick’s eyes widened as he spotted the smooth patch of skin where the knife should have left a gaping wound. John watched as he reached out to touch.

Riddick suddenly smirked. “Oh, this is going to be _good_.”

John had very little warning before Riddick’s hand grabbed onto his hair, using his hold to pull him forward, their mouths meeting in a clash of tongues and teeth. John could feel the sharp sting of a cut lip, and taste the blood he knew from familiarity wasn’t all his. Where Riddick’s hand had rested lightly against the freshly closed wound, there were now fingernails digging into his side, and raking down his back.

Riddick wasn’t gentle. Right now, John didn’t want him to be. He wrapped his hands in the fabric of Riddick’s black vest, pushing the material up. When it didn't look like Riddick was going to break the assault on his mouth, John’s hands tightened until the fabric ripped and he could get rid of it. His hands skimmed Riddick’s toned skin lightly at first, an aching counteraction to the roughness of Riddick’s own touch. But when Riddick growled and nipped sharply at his bottom lip, John dug his fingertips into Riddick’s hip, and scraped across his chest with his fingernails.

Riddick broke away, panting harshly, and John took the brief moment to take in Riddick’s expression, looking for the signs of arousal in his features, the flush of color. John felt the tug on his hair lessen before Riddick’s hands moved to the fastening of his pants. John gasped as a warm hand wrapped around him, thrusting his hips forward as that hand tightened briefly to the point of pain before starting on a harsh and fast pace.

John’s fingers fumbled in their attempt to open Riddick’s pants as the man bit into the chord of muscle in his neck. Sharp nips were trailed along his shoulder, soothed by a long swipe of tongue. John bit his lip and concentrated on getting his hands on Riddick’s cock to even the game. John smirked as Riddick groaned at the first feel of his fingers, and as he quickened his pace. Riddick returned a hand to his hair, tugging until their mouths met in hot breathy kisses.

When Riddick’s thumb swirled on the tip of his cock John pushed forward, knocking Riddick onto his back. He spared enough time to push both their pants further down their thighs before he leaned forward and got both of their cocks in his palm. Riddick’s hands grabbed onto his hips as John sped up his movements, twists of his wrist were accompanied by the tightening of Riddick’s hand, with gasps and groans. John could feel the start of his orgasm building, could feel in the beat of Riddick’s heart that he wasn’t far off either. He rested his weight on his left arm as he leant down, he bit at the hard muscle of Riddick’s chest as his grip around their cocks tightened. One of Riddick’s hands left his hip to grab at his left forearm, the thumb rubbing hard against the tattooed skin.

John bit his lip as he came, his hand losing a bit of his rhythm as the shudders wracked his body. He pressed his thumb under the head of Riddick’s cock, the pressure sending him over the edge. John watched as the expressions changed on Riddick’s face, until he moved his hand from John’s hip, wrapping it back in his hair and smashing their lips together.

The kiss was brutal, filled with power and passion, and as John fought to get his breath back he wondered if he had finally met his match. He breathed deeply before rolling on to his back at Riddick’s side. The only sound they made was from their harsh breathing. John let his senses run free for the first time in a long while. The smell of sex, the beating of their hearts, the hum of the ship around them and the soft vibration of the floor against his back, all of it washing over him as his body calmed.

“Only one thing I hate about this,” Riddick’s voice rumbled.

John sighed and rolled onto his side to face him. “What’s that?”

“You get to leave your mark,” he said, swiping a hand down the side of his face, through the blood that had started to dry and congeal. “Any marks I make ain’t going to stay long enough. Someone just might think you’re available. I’m gonna have to find some way of making sure they all know you’re mine.”

John shivered involuntarily, and Riddick smirked. He reached out and snagged John’s left wrist, tugging until he could see the tattoo he was clearly fascinated with. “What do you think about getting another one of these?”

John’s gaze dropped to take in the symbol of the life he’d once had and the irony of the subject matter. He thought about everything that went with it, the people, the events, and the places he’d seen. He wondered if a second tattoo would give him the same symbolism, the same irony, or if he’d see it as a reminder to start again and make the most out of where life led him.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

Riddick suddenly shifted, rolling John on his back and settled down on top of him until every part of them touched. He grinned, seemingly satisfied with John’s words being an affirmative. “Not sure yet, but I’ll think of something.”

John closed his eyes, as Riddick kissed him. The thought of taking a reminder of this with him for however long he had left, was suddenly no longer a bad idea.


End file.
